


Better Than Her

by calmlikesurrender



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calmlikesurrender/pseuds/calmlikesurrender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam met a girl with the same dark skin and brown eyes and he forgot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Her

It’s not a question, it’s just a look. An acknowledgement.

             _I can do this better. I can be more than her._

            Zayn doesn’t even have to say the words because Liam can read him.

            He’s always been able to.

            So much more than the others- they just seemed to fit. No snipping, cutting ends, forming jagged edges. It was this calm, effortless pull.

            And he forgot.

            Liam met a girl with the same dark skin and brown eyes and he forgot. 

            So when Danielle storms off, angry as usual- this time with Liam’s forgetfulness- Zayn is there beside him on the couch. And he’s watching him with those dangerous brown eyes.

            But they’re not really brown.

            Gold. Copper. Sparks and mud and they’re fucking feral, but so goddamn patient.

            “What do you need?” he says, but he’s already slipping his hand to Liam’s knee. Gripping him.

            Space? He should say it.

            He needs time to think.

            But then Zayn’s hand isn’t on his knee anymore, it’s cupping him.

             _God._

            And he can’t help the pained groan that slips past his lips.

            Then they’re kissing, but not really.

            Rushed lips and hands in places they’ve never quite been before.

            But no, that’s a lie.

            And he moans his name and it’s low and deliberate and he’s dragging his trousers down past his knees, straddling him. Bare skin to jean. And they’ve touched like this. Sat this close. Snuck their tongues out over salty, sweat-stained skin. But never without the layers.

            And never without the protective assurance that someone might see.

            “What do you want?” Zayn says.

            But it’s obvious by now.

             _You. I want you._

             _To slip my fingers in black lines, instead of brown dips. I’ve-I’ve thought about this for so long._

“Touch me.”

            God.

            When did his voice get so wrecked? When had he ever begged before?

            But he hasn’t needed to.

            With a girlfriend who never says no. With girls (and boys) throwing themselves at his feet..

            But this isn’t a quick fuck. It’s this ashy-grey area. Because he’s hot right now. Too hot. He’d touch himself, but Zayn’s everywhere and he can’t make his hands work more than gripping those dark hips when he grinds down on top of him, moaning into his neck.

            And he’s hard.

            Fuck, he’s aching.

            Trembling, not going to last.

            But Zayn is, too. He can feel him, thick and rutting against him. His breath shot, laced with some intoxicating wildness. It’s the alcohol.

            Of course, it’s the alcohol.

            But it’s something else, too. It’s the bitter tinge of smoke like poison. Of that cigarette he had hanging from his lips, already red from digging into them with his teeth. And it’s the want.

            God, it has to be. He’s whispering into Liam’s skin and he’s rocking with him, speeding up, losing rhythm.

            “If I touch you,” he says, nipping at the hard lime of Liam’s jaw, dragging his teeth across the bristles he’d forgotten to shave that morning, “you’re mine.”

            But he’s always been his. He just never said the words.

            “I need- fuck-”

            Then it’s enough, and he’s slipping.

            Zayn’s body’s this suffocating weight, but it’s so good. He digs in with his fingers, holding him down, afraid to lose him.

            Because without this, he’s nothing. And he knows that. And he’s known for so long.

            And they’re there, and it’s easy so he lets himself give in.


End file.
